


Death of All Deaths

by reddisk



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blood, Blood Donation, Kissing, M/M, Needles, Praise Kink, Sexual Frustration, Yotsuba Arc (Death Note), discussion of execution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28868766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddisk/pseuds/reddisk
Summary: Light agrees to something unconventional.“I seriously doubt you have a medical license.”“You don’t need a medical license to draw blood."
Relationships: L/Yagami Light
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71





	Death of All Deaths

Light is not accustomed to being openly antagonized. That isn’t to say he’s incapable of maintaining his composure, because it is incredibly difficult to chip his personable mask under most circumstances, but it’s different with L for a few reasons. For one, L is Light’s equal intellectually. For another, he is frighteningly perceptive to what actually annoys Light. And lastly, he is waiting for Light to trip up and somehow reveal that he is Kira, which is improbable (but not irrefutable). These factors make for long and exhausting days shackled to a maniac who is unfairly adept at getting under his skin. And so it goes. 

“This is pointless,” says Light, but he might as well be talking to a door. L is fidgeting with an alcohol wipe. There’s no response, so he goes on, “I seriously doubt you have a medical license.”

“You don’t need a medical license to draw blood,” replies L. Then he uses his teeth to open the paper wrapping and retrieves the wipe accordingly. “It’s like parking a car.”

“You don’t have your driver’s license, either. Or a permit.”

“I have a permit.”

“Do you?”

“Show me your arm.” 

“This is completely unprofessional,” concludes Light, but he extends his arm anyway because he hates to lose. If he insisted that L fetch him a real doctor, it would mean that he lost the game. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but he does, and so does L. He doesn’t see why he can’t endure a needle for the sake of winning.

L’s expression is so permanently unaffected that it used to be somewhat disturbing. Light, being a seasoned manipulator, is accustomed to using the emotions of others for his own benefit. L doesn’t provide him with that opportunity. Instead, he applies a tourniquet with a rubber band and squeezes Light’s arm like a squeaky toy. “Does that feel alright? You look pale.”

“I don’t look pale,” argues Light automatically. 

“How would you know? You can’t see yourself, can you? That would be impressive if it were true. I do suppose Light-kun is a prodigy.”

His face warms. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t want L to comment on his complexion for a second time, and he wants this to be over with. He just makes a loose fist with his hand and looks away. 

L swipes the alcohol pad across the inside of Light’s elbow. He turns to fetch the syringe and vial, but not without noticing how Light clamps his jaw. “Are you afraid of needles, Light-kun? I didn’t take you for that type.” 

“No, it’s just cold.” It’s not necessarily a lie. He doesn’t mind needles, and he even donates blood and plasma as community service on occasion. But he doesn’t like to watch his skin be punctured. This remains the case as L proceeds, coldly clinical, chain dragging as he pulls Light’s skin taut with his thumb. Light pointedly watches the wall and waits.

And waits. Until it is suddenly apparent that L is fucking with him, so he swivels his head and contemplates kicking him in the shin. “Just do it already.”

“I was looking for your antecubital.” L tilts his head, playing purposefully oblivious in the way that makes Light’s temples throb. “And you’re supposed to let the alcohol evaporate for approximately thirty seconds, according to my colleagues at Nurse dot org.”

Light struggles to conceal his annoyance, which is made considerably worse by L’s close proximity. “Did you even wash your hands?”

“Sure,” says L vaguely, and he inserts the needle. Light looks automatically away. He feels watched, so he glances over again a second later, but L is focused on the stream of blood flowing through the catheter and into the vial. He swallows; it’s not that he minds the pain, but he wishes he wasn’t feeling so flushed. His eyes avert again and L loosens the tourniquet as the last amount of blood is drawn. In a smooth and seemingly practiced motion he presses a clean piece of gauze against the vessel. There’s a terse silence. Light lets out the breath, and L tapes the gauze to his arm. 

“You did very well, Light-kun.” L lets go of his arm belatedly. He doesn’t sound any different than usual, but his pupils are blown wide like a cat’s. “This will do nicely. I wonder what your blood type is?” 

“Type A. It’s not a secret.” Light stares unabashedly at the vial. “I think you knew that already. There’s no way you haven’t seen my medical records.”

“You are exactly right. Well done.”

He waits for L to go on — but instead he turns to label the vial with a bar code sticker, and they’re quiet again. Light is indignant. He’s far from an idiot, and so is L, so he hates when they skirt around the subject like this. There’s something so irritating about having to chase after a person. He must be a masochist. Or maybe L is a sadist, and Light only endures it because he knows there will be precious rewards after the fact.

“Ryuzaki.” Light tries once, to no avail. 

L idles at the far end of their shared room. In retrospect, Light should have insisted he have his blood drawn in a sterile environment, but L had sprung the proposition on him so suddenly. _Would you be opposed to a blood test? If you aren’t Kira, this will neither increase nor decrease your culpability._ What reason did he have to refuse? L places the vial atop his (unoccupied, purely decorational) wardrobe and asks mock-curiously, “Have you ever wondered what being executed would feel like?” 

Light’s face screws up in a way that is meant to imply he thinks L is a psychopath, but he can’t help but consider the question anyway. “Well, yes. Because of you. My dad fired a blank at my forehead in the backseat of a parked car and I thought I was going to die.”

“Did you actually think so?” L sounds surprised.

“Yes, obviously. I had been in a cell for however many days and I was already disoriented. Did you seriously think I faked that entire thing? You’re unbelievable.” 

“What did it feel like?”

Light blinks. He has to stop and think about it. “I was thinking about every little thing I was never going to do. Places I’ve never seen. But I was mostly just panicking.”

“Imagine a scenario in which you are convicted as the first Kira and sentenced to death.” 

“I’m not Kira.”

“If you aren’t Kira, you should be comfortable answering a hypothetical question.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” He turns purposefully away, intending to be silent for the time being. He isn't going to entertain the idea that he be executed for a crime he doubts he committed. He’s not _positive_ he isn't Kira. But he doesn’t like to think that he is, either. That would make him a liar. And a murderer. And a sore loser. 

(He is definitely two of those things, but never in excess.)

“I think I’d prefer lethal injection,” L says slowly. His voice suddenly sounds much closer. 

“You probably wouldn’t get a say in the matter. In Japan, you’re hanged.” 

L’s hand comes to rest on Light’s shoulder, and when he turns to face him, they’re kissing. It’s sloppy. And slightly lopsided. But Light makes a familiar, preening sound in his throat, and L responds in turn by squeezing Light’s right bicep. He’s a far cry from impressively strong — but it succeeds in making him blush deeply. His hand makes a fist in the back of L’s shirt, and suddenly L is crawling to sit in the space between his crossed legs, pinning him to the headboard and lapping at his tongue (a little clumsily, but Light is already fumbling for his zipper because the crotch of his pants are tight).

Until L stops him. “We can’t.”

“Please shut up. I really don’t feel like pandering to your ego about whether or not you're predatory for having sex with your primary suspect.”

“It’s not that. It’s that your blood sample is going to be useless if we let it sit at room temperature for much longer.”

Light shoves L off his lap and onto the carpet. He falls in a kind of awkward heap. “ _You_ kissed _me,_ genius.” 

“Because I wanted to. But unless you want me to take another sample—”

“Fine! God.” Light gets begrudgingly to his feet, awkwardly fixing the hem of his shirt in an attempt to conceal his (now diminishing) arousal. 

"Light-kun is nothing if not a gentleman."

_This fucking guy._

  
  



End file.
